


Fireflies and Empty Skies

by CirillaShepard



Series: Solipsism [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Freeform, No Dialogue, Solipsism, descriptive writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirillaShepard/pseuds/CirillaShepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a memory feels as real as life, it's as valid as life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireflies and Empty Skies

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything from the Mass Effect game series (unfortunately) but BioWare does.  
> Damn them.  
> I’m just borrowing their characters for fun when my muse grabs me.  
> ____________  
> Come and say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://memoryandthought.tumblr.com)!

The discordant symphony of gunfire, the smell of rain-soaked earth mixed with the faint, yet unmistakable metallic tang of pure energy.  
  
Battle cries and blood on the wind; skies darkened with slate-gray clouds.  
  
Broken bodies, impossibly twisted; fallen enemies decorating the ground.  
  
The taste of victory so close, just one more bullet away; one more burst of energy; a sudden flare of power that flashes electric and burns quickly like a comet entering orbit.  
  
The sound of the storm breaking, thunder rolling and booming; echoed in heartbeats that combine in a synergy bursting with peaks of adrenaline and tinged with fear.  
  
A movement caught in the periphery, a figure running through the sheets of rain with murderous eyes; too fast to outmaneuver.  
  
Fires bloom into life, bright blue like ice dance into the edges of vision; a shield and a stutter of gun shots ringing out against the silence.  
  
Another movement, a slender figure fueled with rage and a roar that would make a tiger bow down in subservience.  
A dancer’s grace and poise, twisting and turning in a routine choreographed from years of knowledge.  
  
Eyes like summer fields, dark with battle-lust and wide in frenzy; glittering as the bullet hits its mark.  
  
A laugh, triumphant and musical bubbles its way through full lips bitten in concentration and worry.  
  
A look from over the shoulder; an arching brow and emerald eyes that shine as lips quirk into a small smile.  
  
A touch, gentle and needed; a spark that starts a slow burning fire deep within.  
  
A final glance over the battlefield; a whispered prayer as the ground is split by lightning, feeding the fires that dance into the empty sky like fireflies lighting the way for the departing souls as rain washes it all away.  
  
Husks on the earth, dead things that rustle in the quickening wind.


End file.
